INOTHER​PEOPLE'S HANDS

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Tsura had never held a gun before and she was already in control. Testing the weight of the weapon, Tsura felt it become part of her as the distant clattering of a train on its tracks, like whisperings through walls, took her to thoughts of her imprisoned family. Through hidden voices and faded screams, her people pleaded, Tell our stories. The wheels of their words moved on rails that until that moment had dragged Tsura along but now filled her with momentum. Tsura had assumed her fateful position - she was the engine now, and the carriages she pulled were her responsibility.